Tents, Vespers, and Returning Narrators
by Lapulta J.R.R. Cahill
Summary: The sequel to Tents, Vespers, and Kidnapped Narrators. The horror stories are no longer creepy. Don't worry.


**Hello, there.**

**Everybody called for an encore to Tents, Vespers, and Kidnapped Narrators. AN ENCORE. A SECOND FIC. *growls* They put me through ALL THIS TROUBLE **_**JUST**_** to make a second fic. 'Because' they thought that Tents, Vespers, and Kidnapped Narrators was 'so great'.**

**Really?**

**Honestly?**

**Well, I'll tell you one thing. I am HONORED, and doing this wasn't that big of a deal. I had fun, actually, while doing it. So I hope that you enjoy this sequel that you just 'had' to have, and Iris- you'll have more speaking parts in this fic. And give me a break! I've got seven-eight people to deal with! Chill-lax!**

**Rage, Snow, Sylvie, Sun, Kaye, and Iris are all: RageRunsStill, Snowstorm xD, SilverArrow12, Lil' Sunshine, Kaye Nightshade, and Iris Cornelia Jade. They're their own people and I don't own any of them. O.o This one-shot is also not beta-ed by Joyce, but by myself. Any mistakes found are mine.**

**Horror Story Credits : - The Basement Doll goes to Lil' Sunshine. Her story is appreciated for creeping even me out. The ending is mine.  
><strong>**- The Demonic One goes to Kaye Nightshade. She gave me two, but I only picked one. Sorry, Kaye, but two stories was just too long to fit the fic.  
><strong>**- The Lighthouse Ghost is from a book called Campfire Stories, by Rick Steber. The story was seriously modified by me though. Elsey is fake. The ending is mine.  
><strong>**- The Janus ghost story is mine, as well as the ending.**

*** - Unfortunately, I had too much fun giving myself super-abilities, because I'm not a very gymnastic-y-ballet-y-pretty-graceful person, even though I figure skate. XD Bear with me here.**

**** - You know the jingle. 'You can do it. We can help. That's the power of the Home Depot'. I just thought... eh, you'll find out. Anyway, I couldn't help it. =D**

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><p><strong>Tents, Vespers, and Returning Narrators<strong>

Iris threw her sleeping bag on the ground, completing the two empty spaces around the campfire. She sat down and picked up a stick, placed there by her writer-friend, Kaye. Around the campfire, girls' faces flickered eerily in the dimming-dark light. Two bags of marshmallows lay by the feet of two different girls, Rage, and Snow, allowing the extremely heavy marshmallow-eaters to stuff their faces. Sighing, Iris turned around and dug a pad of paper out of her sleeping bag.

"What are you doing?" Sylvie whispered softly.

Heads turned in Iris' direction and the seventeen-year-old swallowed hard. "Writing with an actual pen. What do _you_ think?"

"Remember-" RageRunsStill suddenly choked on her words. "Remember what happened the last time..."

Iris could feel her face drain of all color with the memory. She turned back around and stuffed the pad into the sleeping bag, covering it well so it was completely hidden.

"We shouldn't be frightened," Kaye suddenly snapped quickly from across the campfire - almost as if she was scared of the words she was saying. "We're all what - seventeen and eighteen now? We're _grownups_."

Sunshine rolled her eyes, "Kids at heart." The girl tossed another marshmallow into her mouth and chewed noisily.

Four girls around the campfire snickered. Two rolled their eyes.

"What happened to Lappy is like American history," Rage whispered, her voice still loud enough to cover all noise that might try to drown her out. "It's like a writer's history book. It's something we shouldn't forget, and we ought to make sure that _others_, don't forget."

"But what can they do now?" Kaye snorted. "Grab us by the ankle and tote us off? My school would _freak_ if I was gone for _one day_ without notice."

Rage snickered. "My college would probably knock my name off the attendance sheet and call it 'death from drugs'."

Sylvie shuddered. "I'm not out of high school yet, thank goodness!"

"Most of us aren't," Iris reminded her. "But Rage is right. What happened to Lapulta _shouldn't_ be forgotten."

"NO!" A screech suddenly radiated around the campfire. "_My Precious!_" Sunshine was crazily waving a flaming torch of burning marshmallow above her head, making sure that everybody saw it. Only a few girls snickered that time.

Iris turned away.

"What? I thought that was a pretty good imitation," Sun sighed and pushed an uncooked marshmallow onto her stick. "Lappy did it better, though."

"You can't _copy_ her!" Rage suddenly screamed. The other girls looked up, surprised- almost frightened at the change in their friend. RageRunsStill was standing on her feet, glaring at Sunshine and looking like she wanted to cry at the same time. "It's _not the same_, Sun! She is _gone_. They _took_ her. We are _never_ going to get her back! We are _NEVER_ going to see her again! Don't you _get_ that?"

"It was suppose to be funny," Sun whispered.

"Well it's _not_!" Rage stumbled on her next words and she could only shake her head, a tear beginning to trickle out of her left eye and down the base of her nose.

"I miss her, too." Standing up, Iris reached out and gently hugged Rage. She could feel the older girl's tears dribble on the back of her blue teeshirt. Weird. Rage didn't seem like the kind that would just- cry.

"Me too," Walking around the campfire, Kaye patted Rage comfortingly on the back.

"All of us do."

"All of us," Sunshine echoed, sniffing as she came up beside Rage and Iris, where all the girls were gathered.

"I- I know," Rage sniffed again. "It's just- I can't get over it. In four years- I can't feel her _gone_. She- I thought she just- loved us... loved writing... I can't think of her gone, Iri! I just can't!" And the girl burst into fresh tears.

The other girls separated back to their own spots around the campfire. After a while, Rage calmed down and sat back in her own spot again, but her cheeks were colored red - obvious marks of her recent weakness.

"We should tell ghosts stories," Snow whispered softly from across the flames.

Sunshine shook her head. "I don't feel like telling ghost stories."

"But it's like her memory," Snow shot back, "She made us tell those ghost stories - remember? We had fun while it lasted."

"Here," Kaye stared into the flames, thinking. "I'll do one first one.

"On my block..." Kaye began spookily. "There was this family. The Father and Mother, two brothers and a youngest sister. Everything was normal and alright, when one day, the eldest brother acted really weird. He was breaking quarreling - I even heard that he-" Kaye munched on a marshmallow, drawing out the moment. "... he killed their family cat."

Snow screamed- one that didn't echo, and faded un-continued into the darkness.

"This went on for about a week. I stopped playing with them, and even the boy's family started to be afraid of him. The next time I heard about them it was on the front page of the newspaper, it read that their dad scheduled a picnic next to a cliff. The entire family went. Once there, the father looked at the cliff and saw something curious at the bottom of it. Calling his oldest son, the father asked him to look at the object. The son agreed, and went.

"After looking for a while, the father suddenly thought of a way to get rid of his demonic son. He pushed the child off the cliff. Going back to the picnic, the family ate in peace. Once they were ready to leave, though, the younger brother flinched, and then his eyes turned a brilliant, frightening red. He faced his family, but the red eyes looked straight through them.

"He said: "Daddy, why did you push me off the cliff?"

Kaye paused again for suspense. "I never saw that family again."

Dead silence, as usual. A mourning dove called somewhere in the dark beyond the fire.

Rage sighed. "But there's that thing with ghost stories. Have you ever noticed that they never have happy endings? None of them ever say; 'and then the ferocious ghost-dog was slain by a courageous knight and everybody lived happily-ever-after?' No. Of course not. They always end by the ghost killing everybody and slaying anyone who comes near them. It's always the same. And Lappy's ended the same way. The Vespers-" The girl's voice broke, and she didn't go on.

"So then why don't we make a happy-" Iris' eyes lit up. "We'll _end_ the ghost stories! All the ones that we told when Lappy was here? You know, the Barbie doll one, and the Lighthouse Ghost one- we'll make endings for those! And..."

"Even the one about the little boy?" Snow whispered. "How do you make an ending for that?"

"We're writers," Iris said firmly. "We'll find a way. And if we don't, then we don't deserve to be on ."

The girls around the campfire slowly nodded, accepting Iris' preposition. "So what one do we start with?" Sun spoke up.

"The Barbie doll," Rage nodded expertly. "We told that one first."

"A few years back, in my neighborhood," Sunshine started, telling the story exactly as she had before. "There was this single mom. She had a daughter and the daughter was about- five-ish. It was her sixth birthday, and so her mom took her to the story to buy a toy. The way I heard it, the little girl saw this doll that held up two fingers and continuously said; 'Two... two... two... two... two...'. And it went on all the time, never stopping.

"Well the little girl wanted the doll. So the mom got it and went up to the register. The guy at the register said; 'Are you sure you want this doll? It's been returned lots of times.' The little girl said; 'yeah' and the mom agreed. 'Well, at night, put the doll in the basement, and lock the door', the guy said and then he rang the doll up and gave it to them.

"So that night, the mom put the doll down in the basement, but forgot to lock the door. In the morning, the little girl was found dead in her room with blood all over the place. Not wanting the doll around since it had been the last thing the little girl had bought, the mom took it back to the store and returned it. But when it sits on the counter and people pass by, the doll is heard to say; 'Three... three... three... three... three...'."

Silence around the campfire.

Then Iris spoke up. "I've got an ending. Here- listen.

"Finally, one day, a man and his son walked by the doll and heard it talking. The boy wanted to get the doll for his little sister for her birthday so it would help her with her numbers. Warning them with the same warning, the guy at the register gave them the doll and the little boy walked away, happy for his little sister.

"At night, the boy and his father ignored the warning, and put the doll in the basement, but didn't lock the door. The little boy was a light sleeper, so in the middle of the night, he woke up and saw the doll- quite alive and staring at him with a wicked expression in her 'expressionless' blue, plastic, eyes. He was too frightened to scream as the doll began to climb up his bed and on top of his covers.

"Then once she was nearly on top of him, her plastic foot stepped on his lower arm and tickled his funny bone. A reflex action caused his arm to jerk back. Losing her footing, the doll tumbled off the edge of the bed. The little boy watched as she got to her feet and began climbing up his bed again, this time growling threats. When she had climbed up the edge, and was standing up, the little boy jerked his arm and sent her tumbling off for the second time.

"The doll's eyes glittered evilly as she looked up at him. Then she began climbing the bed- so quickly it seemed like she was mechanical. The little boy scrambled to his feet and stood on his bed- ignoring the hundreds of times his parents had told him not to do it. Thinking quickly, he grabbed the glass of water that was sitting on his night-stand. As he picked it up, the angry doll's eyes suddenly widened in horror. The little boy realized she was _afraid_ of the water. Doing the only thing he could think of at the moment, he tossed the entire glass of his water on her. The doll screamed, and before the little boy could react, she had melted to a puddle of plastic on his comforter.

"Suddenly the little boy thought of something. He ran into his parents' room. 'Mommy!' He cried; 'I need more water to drink tonight! I ran out!"

The girls around the campfire giggled.

"Good job," Rage grinned at Iris. "I liked that ending."

"That was awesome," Snow looked at the fire and began laughing- obviously at something that had tickled her funny bone while she'd been listening.

Sylvie frowned, popping another roasted marshmallow into her mouth and speaking while she was chewing. "I told the Lighthouse Ghost one, right? Okay...

"So, about two years back, we moved from California. We lived on the coast, and near this lighthouse that was suppose to be haunted. There was like- a group of us kids there. And one day we decided that we ought to explore the lighthouse and prove that it wasn't haunted. Because- well, duh, ghosts don't exist- we thought.

"There was a girl with us. Her name was Elsey was the oldest, I think. Probably fourteen something. She was really pretty, and she was always neat and starched and pressed. You get the picture. Well, we went into the lighthouse and it was dust and pretty dull. Your normal, hasn't-been-touched-in-fifty-years lighthouse stuff. And then we saw this trapdoor on the floor with a huge rock covering it. The boys decided to roll the rock away and they did.

"We all lifted up the trapdoor and looked down. It was pitch-black, and you could hear the sound of the ocean against the rocks below. We explored a bit more, then started going back to town. Then Elsey said; 'I left my handkerchief! I'll be right back!' So we stopped and she went back inside.

"Then we heard the screams. We ran back inside, but it was too late. Blood covered the entire lighthouse floor, the trapdoor was closed and the boulder was moved back over it."

"Oo! Oo! I'll try!" Snow was bouncing up and down in her seat with one hand waving wildly in the air. "Let me see... So...

"Frantically, we pushed at the boulder and moved it away again. The blood formed a trail, leading deep into the recesses of the cave. Looking at each other, we silently formed a pact that we would find this monster and kill it in revenge for our friend.

"Then before we could even move, a foul stench began emitting from the hole. Black smoke that smelled nothing like smoke billowed up from the depths, choking us with the thickness of it. We stepped back from the hole.

"Then suddenly Elsey burst out of the hole, unharmed, and waving something in her hand alone with her white handkerchief. 'Tomatoes!' She screeched. 'Lots of them!' Taking the tomato in her hand, she popped it whole in her mouth and chewed. One of the boys knelt down on the floor and tasted the 'blood'. It was tomato juice. We asked Elsey about the ghost and the smoke, and she said it was nothing but a geni that had been locked up for six thousand years. The smoke was his magic trick of disappearing. We went home happy, and ate lots of tomatoes."

Sylvie and Sunshine were laughing so hard they had to blow their noses in their separate sleeping bags, which grossed the other girls out so much they stopped laughing.

Iris rolled her eyes at their writer-immaturity, as Lapulta had called it once. "So who's going to do the next one?"

The group around the campfire quieted. "Do we have to tell that one?" Rage whispered.

Iris nodded. "It's the most important one. Maybe- I don't know, but just maybe if we wish hard enough, and we believe, maybe the happy ending we make for that one will come true."

Kaye sighed. "I don't know- I mean, we've all wished these four years. It can't come true tonight, Iri. Why would it? Why not one of the other 365-366 nights in the past four years? Why would all our wishing come true _tonight_?"

"Because we haven't been together," Iris hissed back firmly. "Because we haven't been together- all of us- _like this_. Because six peoples' wishing might happen, where one persons' wishing might not. We can _all_ do this."

"I'll tell it," Rage suddenly whispered, interrupting Iris. "All of it- and the ending. I know what the ending ought to be."

Sunshine nodded. "Tell us then, Rage. We'll help if you forget something."

Rage nodded. "There was a little boy - son of a Janus branch leader, only about seven years old. He was a good writer already, and he showed a lot of promise. Like- Mark Twain, lots-of-promise. Writing came natural for him. It was compulsory. Any ideas - any words _had_ to be written down. His parents loved him a lot, so much, that one night, the mom said; 'Never show your true talent. Write, but keep your inner self hidden.'. 'Why?' The little boy asked. The mother gave a tiny shudder, but didn't allow the little boy to see. 'The Vespers want talent - good talent. They'll...' -a pause for a mother's worst fear- 'They'll take you, just for that talent. Promise me you won't ever write your inner self.' 'I promise, Mommy,' The little boy said. And then he went to sleep."

Rage took a deep breath and continued, just as Lapulta had four years prior. "In the years that went by, the little boy wrote more and more. It couldn't be helped. All his dreams and ideas were written down and saved in a secret file he tucked behind his underwear drawer. Not even his Mother knew about it. Every thought in the file though, was brilliant and beautifully written. It was _him_ - his inner self that was penned there.

"As he grew older, the little boy realized the riches hidden behind his underwear drawer. He finally took one essay, gave it to a magazine and had it published. He won a prize, and that he hid safely away in the file as well. One month later, the boy's mother woke up to screaming. She raced to the boy's room, but the screaming was silenced, and nothing stirred.

"Turning on the light, she saw the little boy's wooden underwear drawer broken into pieces. The file behind it was gone.

"And over the tousled bed and around the room, underwear was arranged in a giant V.

"She cried," Rage whispered, improvising now. "His mother sobbed, broken-hearted for weeks until she could finally manage to begin to piece her heart back together. It was months before she could stand to do what she normally did, and even with that, there was still a hole in heart, that she could never fill.

"Four long, torturous years later, she woke up to the sound of her door opening. When she looked up, she saw the silhouette of a young man in her doorway. He was precisely illuminated against the light of her hallway. Her breath caught in her throat, and she could barely breath. Maybe- just maybe... it was _him_.

"The young man turned towards her for a second, then in three quick strides, he was by the foot of her bed. 'Get up,' he whispered. 'Now.' The mother climbed out and stood up. 'Go get dressed, quickly. There's little time.' Obeying, the mother got dressed and followed him as they crept silently through the house. The young man led her through the back door, then they slipped - completely silent - through gates and around the neighborhood till they were nearly a mile away from the house.

"In a park, away from any lights, the young man turned towards her. The mother didn't expect anything- perhaps a curt nod, but the young man turned away suddenly, as if he couldn't meet her eyes. 'I underestimated them,' he whispered. 'I see that now.' Mother and son hugged each other, and rejoiced happily. The Vespers had been cheated, and they were together again."

The girls around the campfire clapped just as happily. "Good job, Rage," Kaye nodded. "I liked that. It was a nice ending."

"Yup," Iris patted Rage on her back. "Who says that you're not creative?"

Rage shuddered and ate another marshmallow. "I'm not creative. That last paragraph? _Ugh_," The girl shuddered once more. "Lappy would have loved to do the ending to that one."

"You filled in for her," Sun smiled, trying to keep the happy atmosphere around the campfire moving. "And it _was_ good, Rage."

"Whatever you say," Rage rolled her eyes. "I'm tired though. What do you say, we hit the hay. And for heaven's sake, take all your stuff inside with you. I don't care if my head is on books and my butt is stuck sleeping on pencils. Take it in."

The girls nodded simultaneously, bending down and around the dying campfire to gather up their things. As they trickled inside one-by-one, absolutely nothing was left on the grass. Rage stayed behind to check for anything else, and she stood in front of the tent flap, her eyes scanning the backyard for any signs of left materials.

A twig snapped, somewhere, and Rage's head snapped toward the sound. There was nothing though, except for a few bushes and_ they_ couldn't have made the noise. Rage peered for a few more moments, then turned around, went inside the tent, and tightly zipped up the flap.

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><p>If the Rage would have looked, she would have seen two brown, unblinking, eyes reflecting icily off the dying embers of the fire, and staring obtrusively from the branches of a nearby Ficus tree. But of course, Rage didn't look, and the pair of eyes went unnoticed.<p>

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><p>"Get up, Rage, now."<p>

_Someone- Someone... who on earth is standing..._ Rage fell back asleep, yawning.

"Get up, Rage, I can't wait."

"Five more minutes..." The girl groaned, rolling over and pulling her pillow over her head.

"There isn't five more minutes to wait. Get _up_."

Yawning again, Rage looked at the pair of feet by her head. They weren't large - perhaps a size six in women's. _Just what Lappy's size-_ _That _voice_... _Rage paled, then slowly crawled to her feet. The figure in front of her was shrouded in complete shadow, and it was hard to make out the features of the face, but Rage could see the deep brown eyes and waist length hair that had always set Lapulta apart. The girl's eyes widened. "Lap-!"

The figure reached forward and fiercely clamped her hand down tight on Rage's mouth before a full word could leave it. "Don't, say _anything_," Lapulta hissed. "If we're found, we're all dead. Me, you - them. Don't say _anything_, Rage," Lapulta carefully let go of the older girl's mouth. "Get your shoes on and help me get them up. Work quickly. They'll be here soon."

"Who-?"

Rage's inquiry was silenced again. "No questions. I don't have time for answers." RageRunsStill took the hint and shut her mouth. Turning away, she tugged on her tennis shoes and began to shake all the other girls' shoulders.

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><p>Three minutes later, they were all standing antsily in the frosty 'forty degree' Arizona winter air. The fire had died out completely, and not even a glowing ember was left to help illuminate the dark figure that was leading them across the yard. They were blocked by the brick wall, of course, but the figure nimbly slipped up the side and perched on a large post-like block. "Climb up. Hurry."*<p>

"Climb up _the wall_?" Kaye asked in disbelief.

"Yes," Lapulta hissed in a whisper. "Climb up, _the wall_. If you want to put it that way. If you don't want to, I guess that I could just leave you here. And trust me, Simon is _not_ going to be happy when he finds Rage gone."

"Who's Simon?"

Lapulta extended a hand towards the girls on the ground. "Less talk, more doing, and Home Depot isn't going to help. _Hurry_."**

"What's the rush?" Sylvie muttered to herself. But she took Lapulta's hand and allowed herself to be drawn up the wall.

Iris was next, then Snow, Kaye, and the rest; until they were all perched on the wall's six-inch wide blocks. At the end of the line, Lapulta slipped into the Ficus tree and writhed silently through the many branches till she swung lithely to the wall in front of Sylvie. Looking over her shoulder, Lapulta met the six girls' eyes and nodded her approval. Then standing up, she began walking easily on the six-inch pathway. The other girls stumbled rather noisily along behind, groping with their toes to make sure they were stepping on the wall, and not falling over the post-like bricks in the pattern.

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><p>Once they'd gotten to the other side of the street, Lapulta leaped down off the fence and waited as everybody else did the same. Rage watched as she pulled two objects out of her pocket and headed for the nearest car that was parked in a driveway. Walking two doors down, the girls watched as Lapulta unveiled one of the objects in her hand, opened the door of the car, climbed over the middle partition, started the car, and pulled it out of the driveway until it was halfway in the street.<p>

"Get in the car," Lapulta nodded over her shoulder while casually dropping the other object in her hand on the driveway where the car had been.

Rage knelt down and picked the object up once Lapulta's back was turned. "These are _hundreds_," she hissed. "Lappy, what-?"

"They're hundreds," Lapulta snapped back quickly. "Fifty of them. What's up, you never seen a bill before?"

"But Lappy-"

"Get- _in the car_."

Nobody wanted to mess with that tone. One by one, the girls climbed into the car- sitting wherever they could. Lapulta began to drive. She had learned, apparently, although nobody knew how or where.

The road was black and frustratingly endless. Rage could see no lights, and there were no stop signs. They were taking back alleys, apparently, so they wouldn't be able to find their way home again. Suddenly Lapulta stopped the car. "Everybody out, quickly."

The girls unbuckled and began the task of unloading themselves out of the car. Lapulta stayed inside, though. Rage bit her lip as the engine rumbled up again. The other girls whirled around- frightened. Lapulta was _leaving_ them?

But the driver's door was open, and Lapulta wasn't buckled. The car began driving away, picking up speed with every turn of the wheels. Lapulta leaped from the seat, did two somersaults on the hard pavement, and popped up. Rage stared at her. She had turned on the car's cruise control apparently. Suddenly the image of the car tipped forward and disappeared into the night. An enormous crash followed.

"What was that?" Iris breathed, only half expecting an answer.

"It's a entrance to the dump."

Six heads turned to look at Lapulta. Her voice was cheery, relaxed and nearly... _amused_.

"But... how are we going to get back home?" Sylvie whispered.

Lapulta shrugged. "I know the way out from here. We can call a taxi, or something. I have a number on my phone. And you don't have to whisper anymore. It's safe now. With the car gone, they can't track us."

There was silence from the girls.

Snow finally got up the courage to allow another whisper. "Are you... a _ghost_- Lappy?

Lapulta turned around, laughing now. "I thought I was going to be one for a few weeks there, but nope- you're not getting rid of me_ that _easy!"

"But how did you get back?" Rage grinned slightly at her friend. "I mean- there was a V on your sleeping bag. We all knew it _had_ to be the Vespers. We were just- all together tonight, and you showed up-"

Lapulta sighed, biting her lip and looking at the ground. "I'll always be looking over my shoulder," She finally breathed, looking back up at Rage. "But I'm back- for good, I hope. You'll have to be careful, too. Simon is going to be _mad_ I outwitted him. He wanted you, Rage, bad."

"_Why?_"

A tiny, wry grin covered the girl's face. "Same reason he wanted me. You're a good writer, Rage. _Like I always told you_." She poked Rage in the stomach.

Kaye decided to speak up. "So why didn't you leave earlier? Or write, at least- to us. Why couldn't you have called... or... I don't know- something?"

Lapulta turned a disdainful eye on her slightly younger counterpart. "Do you _actually think _the Vespers would let me write to you? Do you actually_ think_ they would risk a phone call? Kaye, they're not stupid. I got no contact whatsoever." Suddenly Lapulta thought for a minute. "But... I _did_-" The girl walked over to the side of one of the buildings and grabbed a canvas bag. She pulled something out of it. "Recognize anything?"

"REALIZING SUMMER!" Sylvie screeched. "By- ATLUPAL HARAS!"

Lapulta took a step back and winced. "_I_... didn't think you'd know it."

Rage got the alias first. "Lapulta!" She grinned, "And Sarah! BACKWARDS!"

"I _knew_ Rachael was exactly like Rage..." Iris mused.

"I'm a writer," Lapulta hugged Rage, dropping the now-worthless magazine to the pavement. "Writers always write- it's a necessity. And Writers never forget their friends. _Ever_."

"I have a suggestion," Sunshine spoke up, grinning. "All in favor say; 'aye'! GLOMP LAPULTA!"

Lapulta's eyes flew open, and she flew down the street, trying to avoid the six girls flying behind her.

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><p><strong>I am a Writer.<strong>

**Writers don't forget their friends. Ever.**

**Beware of excessive glomping.**

**~L~**


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